Visiting Hours
by hIDinG tHIeF
Summary: Ryou is lonely. It is, after all, very boring in the high security ward of Domino Mental Institution. BakuraxRyou, some mentions of BakuraxAnane


**Disclaimer:** If I actually did own Yu-gi-oh, though I don't, and I saw me writing fan fiction, and my lawyers told me to sue... wouldn't I be suing myself?

**A/N: **This is the fic that goes no where and accomplishes nothing, as inspired by a song that I heard when I was half asleep. Hopefully it will warp your mind a little, at least ;) Though I didn't think about it until I'd already started writing, a bit here and there was also inspired by the movie Gothica. As for why 'Bushido: The Soul of Japan'... it was mentioned in this month's Shojo Beat, eh heh. But I actually have read it, a couple years ago. I though it was good, but then again, I'm a total nerd, so ignore me. Everybody here already knows that Ryou has a sister, right? Well, he does. That's not the only thing I have in here that isn't mention in the dubbed anime, actually, I think, though it's the most important... Go buy the mangas already. But read this first, if ya don't mind.

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Once upon a time, there had been visiting hours.

Once upon a time, Anane visited every week.

After the first time my 'madness' got out of my control and spoke to her, she skipped a day. He never has told me what he said to her - that time or any time. But after that, she chose to 'be strong' and understand that 'it wasn't my fault', and came back again. That one week she'd missed had really scared me, but she promised it'd never happen again. Sometimes he would let me talk to her for the whole hour without any interruptions, but most of the time she would leave running, in tears - he always let me see that much. Once, in a rage, I demanded to know why he had to do that to me, on top of everything else, but he just snapped sulkily back that he didn't feel like being in control after talking to 'that bitch'.

Part of me really wonders what they talked about, but maybe I'm better off not knowing.

It doesn't matter any more, anyway, because now... now she's in a coma in some hospital somewhere, with all my other 'victims'...

There are no visiting hours in the high security ward.

I read so much, these days. Sometimes the little part of me that really is insane - and who wouldn't be at least a _little _insane? - worries that I might read all the books in the world, but I suppose that's probably not possible. I read everything without discrimination - romance, horror, fantasy; comics, magazines, textbooks... Every once in a while, though, he will get bored and want to talk.

Once, he told me that I was lucky, because most of these poor saps had to make up people to talk to, but he was actually real. I had to laugh.

On this particular day, I happened to be deeply absorbed in 'Bushido: The Soul of Japan' - of all things - when the words suddenly flew upwards. He's standing before me, dangling the book tauntingly just out of my reach with a tell-tale bored smirk plastered on his face. I merely stare blankly up at him, waiting for him to speak, so he starts flipping through it.

After a little bit he scoffs, as I'd known he would, and tosses the book aside. "What are you reading this shit for?" he demands. "Morality doesn't matter when you're trapped in a cage." He gestures around at the bare gray walls, the bed with its thin and squeaky mattress, and the piles of random books strewn across the floor that made up my life, for emphasis.

When I don't answer but take an acute interest in said surroundings, my yami lightly takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger and moves my eyes back to his. "I asked you a question," he says softly.

I stare into his chocolate-brown eyes for a long time. Actually, mine are more of a chocolate color; his eyes are tainted red and are closer to the color of dried blood. Eventually I say, "Yes, you did."

I catch a split-second glimpse of his face contorting in anger, before he backhands me roughly. I lay very still for a few moments, waiting for the dizziness to wear off, as he snarls, "That means 'answer me', fool."

I sit up and calmly wipe a drop of blood from my lips. "If you keep this up, they'll send a doctor in," I comment.

I suppose I ought to take this opportunity to explain the number one reason why I sometimes question my sanity. To me, my dark is as real as the next sadistic bastard. Granted, he seems to have magic powers, but the point is that, when he wants me to, I can see him, hear him, touch him - hell, if he's close enough then I can even smell him - _and no one else can_. If anyone was actually bothering to watch the security video of my cell right now, they'd see me fall off the bed and start bleeding for no apparent reason, and then start talking to myself. In their language, I'm having another 'episode'. I guess it's all a matter of perspective...

He crouches down in front of me. "Yes, and he'll sedate you, and then I would be able to do all _kinds _of unpleasant things," he says, with a grin. "So I suggest you behave yourself and answer me."

We stare each other down for another long time. Then I shrug. "I read it because it's interesting. I don't know why you care." I lay back down, ignoring a little heap of books that's jabbing into my spine, and after a moment he lies down next to me on his side and begins picking at the buttons of my bland, Institute-issue shirt.

"But of course I care," he purrs. "You are my host." I swat his hand away irritably.

"If you care, oh 'great tomb robber', then why don't you get us out of here?" I ask again. 'Again', because we've had this discussion a million times before, of course. We've had every discussion we could have had a million times before.

"Why bother?" he says, with a careless shrug. "They feed us, they clothe us, they give us shelter. It's the best that you deserve." He laughs. "Really, it's better than you deserve. You're so _mean_; you never want to help me. If only you'd do as I ask, I'd be more than happy. I just don't think I can trust you, though. Fortunately, in a place like this, the problem is rather... self-correcting..."

I glance sideways at him. "What if I turned out to be a sadistic nutcase instead? It's what happened to you."

"Oh, you're much too weak for that," he chuckles.

Personally, I think he'd lying. I don't think he can get us out of here, really. I think we'll be trapped here forever...

Maybe I blacked out for a second, or maybe he moved really fast, but all of a sudden he's kneeling over me with a hand on either side of my head. I gaze dully at his bloodstained eyes. "Now," he whispers, "you really ought to know better than to call me names..."

His mouth tastes like nothing on earth; he always tastes just like himself. Today I beat him to the punch and bite his lip; he growls. He tries to make it unpleasant, tries to make it painful, but in the end it's always the best part of my day. I'm sure I'm not alone in this building in feeling that I could kill for a little physical stimulation... As long as I shut my mind off, it's wonderful.

Somehow we've crawled and tumbled our way back to the bed, and he sits down and pulls me to my knees by my hair, and unzips his pants... Well, he never was much into foreplay, but that's okay. He controls the motion more than I do with his fingers still tangled in my hair, and a year ago I would have choked, but I've gotten better. The way this makes him shudder with pleasure is very arousing... I dig my tongue into the bottom of his length and drag my teeth across the top the way I know he likes, and he comes pretty quickly. I swallow it all, though I've never really liked the taste, and then I lean against the side of the bed to wait, passively, for him to make the next move.

While I wait, I enjoy the rare opportunity to watch him when he actually looks sort of vulnerable. His sits with his elbows on his knees, breathing heavily; his head hangs limply so that his sweat-matted hair drapes over his eyes. He's damn sexy, really, and I... I...

...I hate him...

Then he's kissing me again, kissing me while hauling me to my feet with a strong grip on my arm, only to throw me on to the bed. My head knocks against the wall, but does he care? Well, neither do I. Buttons fly everywhere as he rips off my shirt - I wonder what the people watching the security feed must think of _that_? - and his sharp nails cut my back as he pulls me close. He bites my neck, my collarbone, bites a nipples so hard that I scream in pain, though in a sick way it feels good too. The whole time he's kneading me roughly through my pants, until I begin begging semi-incoherently, and he finally stops teasing. He yanks my pants off deftly, and takes a moment to stare down at me. It's a quiet moment in the middle of this tempest, and kind of surreal. The look in his eyes is totally beyond me, but it's mesmerizing.

But in any case, someone is going to notice soon - a doctor is going to come soon - so he roughly flips me over and without so much as a word of warning, he pushes into me. I scream again; my hands clench into fists around the sheet. He slams into me so hard and so fast that I can't stay on my hands and knees, but fall to my elbows. He reaches around to grab my length, and every move he makes thrusts me against his hand and makes white sparks appear in front of my eyes. I'm crying, I note, from the pain and the pleasure of it all.

When he finds his release, he calls out my sister's name, like always. He fades away back to wherever he lives in my mind before I've even got my breath back.

After he's gone, I lay as he left me for a while. I wonder if I have the strength of will to smother myself with a pillow...? I think that after every time, though, so I don't bother about it too much. Eventually the doctor comes. The last thing I remember, as the sedative cloud begins to fill my mind, is wondering whether or not, deep down, I'm in love with him. Maybe I'm better off not knowing.

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**AN: **I wrote this whole story in one day. It's a miracle. O.O Now, the big question on my mind right now is... did everyone actually _get _this story? Or was I too vague? (nervous grin) I tend to do that sometimes, I think... Thankies to my dear friend The Mad Teaparty, anyhow, for telling me how to spell Ryou's sister's name. (hands cookies) LYLAS, onesan ;) 'Ny-how, please tell me how weird/stupid/sick/cool this story was by reviewing like nice peoples, and you could get cookies too!


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